


So it's summer.

by regsregis



Series: Sugar and Gold [2]
Category: Borderlands (Video Games)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-24
Updated: 2017-05-24
Packaged: 2018-11-04 11:31:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10990041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/regsregis/pseuds/regsregis
Summary: For the BLSummerBingo2017, filling 'blowing bubbles' and 'heat' prompts





	So it's summer.

**Author's Note:**

> I couldn't resist a little, awkward and graceless nod to one of my fav poets, sorry not sorry..

Summer brings many things to life, crops laying like a golden carpet across the fields, chirps of insatiable fledglings, and, reckless ideas. It also brings unbearable heat that scorches the ground, but most of all, it brings mosquitoes.

So it’s summer and it feels like drowning in the suffocating heat  
So it’s hopeless in a way you can’t escape it even with eyes screwed shut.  
And the sun leaves stark white imprints behind your eyelids,  
even when you are desperate to try and blink them away.

With an annoyed huff, the Sorcerer zaps yet another of those pesky buzzers, bare feet soaking the blissful chill of the stone floor as he stomps through the castle. These days he can't bring himself to wear anything more besides his undergarment and a loose shirt, sleeves rolled up and first couple of buttons popped. Same goes for his apprentice and soon enough he finds the boy slumped on the floor, most of his body virtually dripping down the narrow staircase leading to the dungeons. Rhys knows he’s not allowed to go there, goes there anyway whenever he thinks his master won’t catch him doing that, and Jack honestly can’t be bothered to do anything about this. Not with the way he can pick up on a small spike of genuine happiness coming from his daughter. And not with the way mismatched eyes turn all dopey as he takes a step over the still body and heads deeper into the castle’s bowels.

He can nearly hear all the excuses he’d get if he were to demand some explanation.

‘But Jaaack, I slipped and sort of fell down,’ ‘but Jaaack, my head is still on the ground level, it’s not like I’m doing anything wrong,’ ‘but Jaaaaack it’s just so, -so- hot’. 

No ‘but Jack’s come, instead, a wistful sigh chases him down the stairs. 

At least the dungeons and caverns offer some solace from the heat, an underground stream linked with the well neither of them has the strength to draw from, and the moat. He hides there for a full week, watching with passing interest as his boy inches lower, one step at a time.

-II-

Angel quickly grows fed up with the two men trying to invade her space and they end up kicked out, -Jack- ends up -kicked out- out of -his- own goddamn dungeons, with a stern command to go out and enjoy some of the sun because they both will be whining about missing it come winter. 

And so he finds himself dragged through the castle’s gate and along the wall to where the edges of the forest cast a meek shadow over the steep bank of the moat. 

There is a short trail of clothes leading from where Rhys has made his decision to where he is currently implementing the idea, already submerged in the cool water. 

Unfortunately, once the underground water breached surface level, the merciless sun has already begun heating it up so despite the constant flow of fresh waters, the temperature of the moat is only a couple degrees below that of a human body. 

Still, Jack thinks, it’s better than nothing and he finds an acceptable spot to plop himself down, a deeper incline in the shoreline where he can comfortably sit and dip his legs in the water, gentle licks of waves occasionally splashing high enough to reach his knees. 

The ever present heat has even his alligators go belly up, the beasts sprawled on the opposite side and paying little interest to any potential meal. Even when the ‘potential meal’ makes fun of them, calling them ‘sorry excuses for vertically challenged dragons’. 

Apparently, when you don’t have an imposing congregation of moat guards, you can make do with one scrawny apprentice lazily splashing about in the water, only the tips of his ears, two intent eyes and a mop of damp hair sticking above the water. And -that- is one sorry excuse for an alligator if you were to ask Jack.

“Come on Jack! The water is just about right.” That’s the first note of enthusiasm he has heard in days and apparently, the opportunity to do anything else aside from melting in the heat, is doing wonders for his usually perky apprentice. The Sorcerer stares down at the slanted angle of his legs in the water and wiggles his toes in contemplation.

“Thanks but I think I’ll pass. Too cold.” And subsequently too hot, he likes his bath to be scalding and the air to be cool, not the other way round. In the meantime Rhys has made his way closer to the napping alligators, chasing a flock of butterflies, drawn to the reptiles and the salt dried around their eyes. 

“What? That’s the temperature at which you usually swap with me in the tub?” Even the raised voice and unguarded, tender flesh can’t prompt the beasts to do anything more beside giving a few, slow blinks. Jack can only sympathise. 

“And you think why I let you in, in the first place?” Definitely not because of the goodness of his heart. He tends to escape the water once it grows uncomfortably cold. A controlled, shallow tub of water mind you, and so he regards the lazily swirling depth with a dose of contempt. 

No witty remark comes and as Jack’s eyes roll back to take in the scenery, the apprentice is nowhere in sight. He can still sense him somewhere around but pinpointing his exact location would take too much out of him, not worth the effort in this weather, and a couple more intent glances finally reveal a trail of bubbles nearing to his spot at the bank of the moat. Rhys going quiet never means anything good and just as he’s about to pull his legs out of the water and maybe crawl closer to the tempting shadow cast by a lone willow so he cannot be disturbed further, an iron grip wraps around his ankles and gives a strong yank.

Jack refuses to acknowledge the indignant shriek that escapes his mouth, soon drowned out by a gurgle when he’s dragged into and under the water. There is a distinct feeling of his dick trying to retract into his body and away from the chill, a prickling along his spine sending little shudders trembling through his body. He struggles against the near octopus grip trying to stop him from escaping, even as he manages to break the surface, sputtering left and right, with eyes wide and fingers desperately tearing at the overgrown grass leaning over the edge of the moat bank. But there are arms around his chest and long legs now pushing against the shore and the blissfully dry ground shifts away. 

He briefly wonders if his apprentice didn’t grow a couple of extra limbs with how insistently -handsy- the boy is, legs now wrapped tightly around his waist, a grip on both of his horns and a dead weight making the two of them sink. There is no more time left for pondering because he now has to keep thrashing about in the water, the moat understandably far from shallow, to keep his head above the water. Only once he finally calms down, a slower sweep of his arms turning drowning into drifting, does he finally fully take stock of the situation, lips turning into a half hearted snarl at the sound of a delighted giggle. Despite the cool water, he can feel warmth seeping through the layer of his clothes and he’s disgustingly -wet-. Jack doesn’t like water much, at least not in such quantities. But the nose now pushed into the crown of his head and the more or less gentle touch over the sensitive surface of his horns nudge him towards a more acceptable mood. He has a half mind to let them drift for a little bit in a tangle of limbs and allow for the chill to chase away the insistent heat but then Rhys has to open his stupid mouth.

“Onward…” the grip against the base of his horns tightens “...handsome steed.” 

That’s it, that’s fucking it and he lurches backwards to drown that moron and free himself, a surprised yelp disappearing as the water takes them under. He kicks about and lashes out with his powers to get rid of the weight pulling him down, eyes screwed shut to protect them from the water and once he’s released, Jack makes a hasty retreat towards the safety of stable ground. 

Dripping water and soaked to the bone, the Sorcerer scrambles on his knees back onto the shore, making a quick work of his damp, heavy clothes and the barely there breeze makes every single hair on his body bristle. 

“Get out of the water you little shit!” He’s left pacing along the edge, fuming and uselessly watching the boy steer himself closer to the center of the moat, keeping a safe distance from the raging man. Preferably, he’d like to grab that moron and spank any and all of those idiotic ideas out of his fuzzy head. Jack files that away for a later occasion. A much, much cooler, later occasion.

The ‘little shit’ refuses to get out of the water, still egging him on with a crooked, overly pleased grin. 

“Come and get me master! Unless you can’t handle the water, old man!” Jack shoves his old man’s hands into the water and calling forth his powers, rapidly begins turning it into solid ice.

An hour later, Rhys finally decides to leave the dubious safety of the company of sleeping alligators, lazily drifting back to where his master is once again sat at the edge, carefully gauging his reaction as he closes the distance. Mismatched eyes still hold that spark of mischief and Jack angrily squints his eyes in the boy’s general direction. 

His anger however, is placated fairly quickly when there are cool arms gingerly coming to rest against the heated skin, the touch turning into an embrace as the boy leans closer, lower half still submerged in the water and head laid on top of Jack’s lap. There are thin rivulets of water running from the damp hair and over the Sorcerer’s front but that’s an acceptable amount of it and so he doesn’t protest, one hand coming up to run over the back of Rhys’ head. It’s cold skin against warm skin, the difference quickly evening out and the fuzzy hair already beginning to dry and curl in every direction, tickles against the front of his thighs. He doesn’t see the smile pressed into the dip of his hip but the angle of a willingly exposed neck is enough of a ‘sorry’ for him to drop any further plans for punishment.

Summer isn’t all bad, useless and annoyingly perky, -alive- things, Jack thinks, because it also brings quiet moments such as this and stark tan lines sneaking down smooth skin. He’ll run his fingers over each and every one of them later.

So it’s summer and Jack feels like drowning in the wide blown pupils.  
So he chokes on his hopeless pride to kiss back with eyes screwed shut.  
With fingertips leaving imprints all over his body, he doesn’t want to blink this moment away.


End file.
